<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>Finding an Anchor in the Apocalypse by ExistentialFish</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28953492">Finding an Anchor in the Apocalypse</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/ExistentialFish/pseuds/ExistentialFish'>ExistentialFish</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Minecraft (Video Game)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Zombie Apocalypse, Found Family, I am so bad at tagging lets get on with this, Implied Contemplation of Suicide, Implied/Referenced Minor Character Death, Minor Angst, No shipping, Radios, Schlatt is mostly just mentioned, Techno being a bit of a cryptid, The following tags are sort of spoilers, Wilbur being somewhat unstable but doing his best, Zombies, except I don't know much about radios so suspension of disbelief is advised, honestly sort of a lack of zombies, implied suicide of a background character, panic attack at some point</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 05:34:13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,980</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28953492</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/ExistentialFish/pseuds/ExistentialFish</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Tommy had been on his own for a long time, always moving, always fearful, always silent. Life was just wake up, start walking, and survive for another day. He hadn't heard a friendly voice in months. He hadn't felt safe in years.</p>
<p>Then that routine got complicated the day he found the radio.</p>
<p>---</p>
<p>A zombie apocalypse au that will focus heavily on Tommy and Wilbur, but will eventually feature other characters as well.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Technoblade &amp; TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Wilbur Soot &amp; TommyInnit, Wilbur Soot &amp; TommyInnit &amp; Phil Watson</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>34</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>216</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I didn't know where I'm going with this but hopefully you enjoy :)</p>
    </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I don't know where I'm going with this, but zombie apocalypse fic wooo. Hope you enjoy.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Tommy had been traveling since the beginning. He knew some people had been lucky enough to be set up in a cozy bunker when the apocalypse hit, but he hadn’t been so fortunate. No, Tommy’s only way to survive since day one had been keeping himself moving, and he had no plans to change that. He wouldn’t even know how to try to settle down, really. He didn’t have the skillset to fortify a makeshift safe-house, and every real safe-house he’d encountered so far had been packed full of either people or zombies. Still, the thought of trying to claim a safe-house for himself was appealing, if for no reason other than the wealth of resources it would surely contain. One thing everyone always needed in the apocalypse was more supplies, and Tommy was no exception.</p>
<p>Which was how Tommy found himself standing in front of what must have been an abandoned safe-house, debating going in. The place was a pretty decent size, looked adequately equipped, and had only minor damage. The fucker who bought it must have been rich. But it was really giving Tommy the creeps. Probably because he’d never seen a safe-house look so… empty. There was no sign of anyone around its premise. The thick steel gate had been left open a bit, but it clearly hadn’t been beaten open by a horde. Tommy didn’t smell the rotting stench of zombies coming from its direction, and he didn't see any signs of anyone else moving in. It must have been recently abandoned. But then why did it look like it had been left behind without a fight?</p>
<p>Tommy was hesitant about going in. Logically, all signs pointed to it being a bad idea. There could be a psycho in there, with no reason to live but to lure idiots like him in there to murder. It could be rigged. There could be something dangerous inside. Still, Tommy hadn't lived this long without taking any risks. And so, eyeing the setting sun and imagining the food that might be inside, he ventured in.</p>
<p>He closed the gate and front door behind him, hearing both click and whir as they locked shut. The security still worked then. Even weirder that no one was there.</p>
<p>Inside, there was a thin layer of dust but no sign of a struggle or of even being raided already. The creepiest part was it looked nowhere near as forgotten as some of the other places Tommy had seen. There was no doubt someone had been living here after the apocalypse struck. But clearly they weren't here anymore. He wondered why.</p>
<p>Tommy ventured through the rooms, his wonder growing as he realized there were more supplies here than he could ever hope to possibly carry. The place was still well stocked, he could live here for years, and for a moment a part of him wondered if he could find shelter here for a while, let himself rest for once. Tommy quickly shut that down. He’d always kept moving, and there was no reason to change that now. Safe-houses brought their own set of risks, a nice food prize wasn't worth the danger.</p>
<p>Then Tommy found the room.</p>
<p>It was small, littered with empty bottles of booze and discarded cigarette packs. The smell of smoke still clung to the walls, the safe-house's owner must have spent most of their time there. There was a haphazard cot set up in the corner despite the bedroom down the hall, and there was a single bookcase pushed against the far wall. But most of the room’s small amount of space was taken up by a desk and chair, some kind of device sitting in a jumble of wires on the surface.</p>
<p>Tommy peered around the room briefly and at the thing on the desk. He turned to go, deciding there was nothing valuable in there, only to jump when the device crackled to life behind him.</p>
<p>Tommy spun around as static filled the air, tense and ready to run. Then, a voice emerged from within the static.</p>
<p>“-llo? Hellooo? Hey, Corporate Fucker, this is loverboy with your daily weather and news reports,” a man’s voice said, sounding bored. “Today the lovely sand around my house is especially delicious, but admittedly the zombie hordes outside my gate are less so. Well, maybe not. I guess technically I haven't tried tasting them yet.”</p>
<p>Tommy stood frozen in shock for a moment. He hadn’t heard a non-hostile voice in at least a year, probably more. He hadn’t realized how lonely he was until the ache in his chest suddenly flared enough to swallow him whole and he stared, energy thrumming through his veins. He scrambled to what he finally realized was a radio and started fumbling to find a way to respond.</p>
<p>“Maybe zombie flesh would taste good. Probably not but then again that’s what everyone told me about sand and now it’s my favorite snack. Hey, I’ll pay you fifty bucks to go lick one.” a pause. “No? Aw.”</p>
<p>Shit. How were radios supposed to work? Tommy frantically tried to find something to press, but his hand froze midway to a dial he was about to recklessly twist. He had no idea how to work this, or how to fix it if he messed something up. His blood ran cold at the thought of losing this guy’s frequency before he ever even got to talk to him. Tommy needed to talk to someone, finally. He wasn’t ready to go back to the silence yet.</p>
<p>“Did you ever see that tumblr post? The one where a guy bites a zombie in a last ditch effort and it actually works and the guy comes back to life?” The man laughed. “Oh man. If there’s one thing I miss about the old world it’s definitely not fucking Tumblr.”</p>
<p>Tommy’s hands shook violently as he drew them away from the machine. His vision blurred and he slowly lowered himself into the desk’s swivel chair. The stranger’s voice, so foreign and strange, was precious to his ears. He couldn’t risk screwing it up. Not yet.</p>
<p>“I think it’s going to rain tonight,” In the blink of an eye, the voice turned from airy rambles to a dry, almost depressed drawl. “It rained yesterday too. It’ll probably rain tomorrow. I’m kind of sick of the rain. I’m kind of sick of this house. I’m kind of sick of you. Deadbeat bastard, up and leaving me all alone.”</p>
<p>Tommy drew in a shaky breath and rested his head on the desk, using his arms as a makeshift pillow. The stranger’s voice was bitter now but the idle words were a more soothing lullaby than anything Tommy’d heard or thought of in ages. He thought of the days when he heard people talking every day. When noise meant friends, meant safety, not terror. He closed his eyes and thought he could almost feel his mother’s hand in his hair again.</p>
<p>“I’m pretty pissed off at you, but… If you came back, I wouldn’t be mad anymore. I think I need you,” The stranger’s voice softened and Tommy’s breathing evened out, ease worming its way into him alongside the words. “I think I need to hear somebody’s voice again.”</p>
<p>Tommy fell asleep to the man launching into a renewed rant, lulled to sleep by the nostalgia of the past, and for a moment he almost imagined he wasn’t alone.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Thanks for reading! Please feel free to leave any questions, comments, or critiques down below, I love hearing them.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Waking up in the safe-house wasn’t stranger than waking up in most places. It was warmer, admittedly, and Tommy hadn’t fallen asleep in a very comfortable position, but that was about it. He had pushed away from the desk and started gathering his things almost immediately on autopilot before his memories from the night before had set in. It felt strange, setting his bag back down. Tommy wasn't used to spending more time than necessary in a place unless he was sick or injured.</p>
<p>He’d be lying if he said it wasn’t nice, though, being able to take his time picking out a breakfast from the rations still stored in the safe-house. He even ate lunch later too, something he hadn’t done for awhile. Afterwards, he searched around for any sign of an instruction manual or something that would tip him off on how to safely operate the radio. He made sure to stick within hearing range of the room, however. He wasn’t sure if the man would call at the same time (wasn't even sure what the time had been the night before really), or if he would even call again at all. He really hoped he would though. Tommy’s heart sank at the thought of not hearing him again at least once more, but he pushed it aside.</p>
<p>Tommy didn’t find any instruction pamphlets, though it took him awhile to shift through the stacks of papers and books. He hadn't had much reading practice over the past few years, and he felt his ears redden just imagining the way his teacher would've looked at him if she saw the way he now struggled to pick through the words.</p>
<p>It was, overall, an uneventful day. Maybe it would've even been relaxing if Tommy’s body wasn't hardwired to keep moving at all costs. He spent most of his time searching the safe-house, doing his best to distract himself from the tension constantly coiled within him.</p>
<p>He almost considered leaving, as the day dragged on. Then, like a siren call ensnaring a lost sailor, the radio came to life once more.</p>
<p>“Good evening to all my adoring fans! I hope you’re ready for another news report. I’ve got a pretty riveting one today if I do say so myself.” As soon as Tommy heard the voice coming from the other room, he raced inside.</p>
<p>“So, eating the same collection of supplies gets dreadfully boring after awhile, doesn’t it? I can hear you agreeing with me all the way from here.” Tommy smiled a little and got more comfortable in his chair. Whoever the guy was, he had a chipper, entrancing way of talking that drew Tommy in. Or maybe that was just due to the years of loneliness.</p>
<p>“Well you’ll never guess what I found – a stash of cans I haven’t tried yet. I didn’t even know I had them. Sounds great, right?” Or maybe his allure was simply his voice. He had a nice voice. Though admittedly, Tommy would probably think that about any friendly voice these days. “Wrong! Guess what it was. Go on. Guess.”</p>
<p>The man waited a moment before continuing on. “<em>Squash</em>. It’s <em>canned squash</em>. Disgusting. I’d rather starve than eat it. Someday I probably will starve to avoid eating it.”</p>
<p>Tommy laughed. He wouldn't complain about finding food, he couldn't afford to be picky when constantly on the move. Still, he remembered his mother making squash with their dinner a few years ago. He and his dad both hated it, and Tommy could vividly remember giggling as his dad winked at him and slipped a forkful to their dog.</p>
<p>“My day was absolutely ruined by that – I had such high hopes when I first picked up a new can! - But I thought you might get a laugh out of it. Speaking of…”</p>
<p>Tommy yawned and let his eyes slip closed. As antsy as he’d been earlier, something about radio man’s voice managed to lull him into feeling tired again. Maybe all the months of constant traveling were catching up with him.</p>
<p>Tommy drifted in and out of sleep as the man continued to ramble. He hadn’t managed to find any clear instructions on how to operate the radio, but maybe he’d find it the next day. He could afford to stay one, even two more days, to see if he could actually contact another survivor.</p>
<p>Two more days, Tommy promised himself, the stranger’s words luring him to sleep. Two more days, then he’d get back on the road.</p>
<p>Two more days.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>TW: implied contemplation of suicide. It's not explicitly stated but it's present for a decent chunk of this chapter. If that's unsafe for you, please skip to the end notes. I'll put a quick summary of what's relevant for next chapter. Stay safe and healthy :)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Tommy stayed a lot longer than two days. Each morning, he thought about leaving. Yet each night he still sat down to listen to the man on the radio ramble once more.</p><p>The man seemed to follow a pretty precise schedule for when he got on the radio, so Tommy got more used to spending the day examining the safe-house instead of waiting for his call. He searched everywhere for a radio manual, but he never found one. He eventually started examining the radio itself as the stranger spoke, looking for any obvious or labeled components. He realized, after awhile, that one button was suspiciously duller than the rest, like it had been pressed or rubbed against much more often. Thinking back, Tommy vaguely remembered his dad having a similar looking radio, though not the same, when Tommy was very young and he swore he remembered his dad flicking a switch and pressing something in order to speak.</p><p>Yet still, he didn't try it. The thought of actually attempting it paralyzed him, and he took to distracting himself by any other means during the day. He even started struggling through reading some of the books. By night, he just did his best not to look at the radio, and was content to sit in silence and listen to the man’s bizarre rants.</p><p>On the fifth night, however, something felt off.</p><p>“Hello. It’s a beautiful evening here in Britain, but isn't it always?” The chipper quality of the greeting felt almost forced. Tommy couldn't tell if he was just imagining it, or if something darker was lingering under the stranger’s tone. “I went up on the roof just a few minutes ago and let me tell you, young couples will love tonight’s sunset, especially paired with the sound of some idiot shooting a gun off in the distance and the particularly fresh smell of freshly rotting corpses. Truly romantic.”</p><p>Tommy sat at the desk chair again, knees tucked up to his chest with his chin resting atop them. Even if the man sounded… off that evening, his voice was still a comfort.</p><p>“Admittedly, I’m not a big fan of the going outside thing. Or of being reminded of how fucked up things are in general. But, you know, a break in routine is good every once and awhile.”</p><p>Tommy disagreed strongly with that. Staying here was a huge break in his routine and it was driving him crazy.</p><p>“Of course I wouldn't have to resort to that if you’d just answer me.” He sounded cranky now and Tommy rolled his eyes. “I know you’re there. You have to be. You have to be...”</p><p>A breathy, desperate sort of laugh just barely made it through the static and Tommy winced slightly. The man sounded more lonesome than usual, but Tommy couldn’t risk messing with the radio.</p><p>“I know what you’ll respond to! Hot pockets. I know you Schlatt, you can’t resist a good hot pocket debate.” Tommy made a mental note of that. So this Schlatt must've been here before him then. “Right? Right. Come on, if you don’t pick up, I’ll take your silence as agreeing that the ham and cheese type are superior. Well?”</p><p>Several long beats of silence passed before a heavy sigh cut through. “Right. You’re such a fucking bastard.” The stranger’s voice was much less soothing when dripping with verbal venom. “What am I supposed to do now, huh? I’m alone. God, I’m alone...” that delirious sort of laugh came through again but this time it was shakier. “I hate you so much. You know what? I’m glad I’m alone! Better alone than with your miserable company.”</p><p>Tommy squeezed his eyes shut. This was much less pleasant, and try as he might he couldn't help guilt from worming its way into his chest. Here he was, taking comfort in this guy’s presence, and refusing to give the stranger that same opportunity. He tried to imagine what it would feel like to have kept contact with someone all this time, just to be left on his own with no warning. He couldn’t imagine it being a very healthy experience, mentally. From the sound of it, it wasn't.</p><p>“Such a miserable fucking bastard… but a smart one. Maybe- maybe you knew what you were doing. Maybe I should just follow your lead.” The safe-house, left undisturbed. Front gate left open. Somebody with years left to live in this little sanctuary, gone without a trace. Tommy tried to shut it out, tried not to connect the dots there. The stranger would be fine. He didn’t need Tommy. And Tommy didn't need him. He could leave, he could carry on as if nothing happened here. He could. He could do it. He didn’t want to.</p><p>“If there’s an afterlife you must be so smug right now. If you even care enough to check in on me in the midst of your eternal bliss.” A scoff. “Right, as if that even exists in the same universe as this hell.”</p><p>Tommy reached out towards the radio, then drew his hand back. He’d run from hordes of zombies, had faced down bloodthirsty sadists all on his own. He shouldn’t be scared of a radio.</p><p>“There’s a story my dad used to tell me. About a city where everyone fought with words, no weapons or bloodshed. They all understood nobody’d be happy on their own against the world, so they swore not to make anyone face that again, and they banded together. If there’s a heaven, I bet that’s what it’s like.” Tommy was better off on his own anyway, wandering like he’d always done, nothing to tie him down to one spot, no reason to stay put.</p><p>The man started to hum something, softly. Tommy hadn’t heard music in ages. He couldn't even remember the last time he himself hummed or sang. It wasn’t safe out there. It wasn’t safe anywhere. He missed feeling safe, being comfortable. “You lucky bastard. At least you had someone here to miss you. I’ve got nothing but empty air.” Tommy hadn’t felt safe in a long time, aside from – well, aside from when he sat and fell asleep to the sound of another human being crackling over the radio. He reached out towards the radio again and lightly traced his fingers over what he was <em>mostly</em> sure would open his end of the transmission.</p><p>“I guess it’s about time I go take a walk… been awhile, huh? It <em>is</em> a pretty sunset tonight.” Shakily, Tommy flipped one of the switches. He paused. The transmission didn't cut off, so he hadn't broken it yet, but still Tommy’s hand stayed frozen on the button. He couldn’t press it. He couldn’t. He needed more time, just a little longer to prepare.</p><p>“Well, bye then. This… this has been your regularly scheduled weather broadcast by Wilbur Soot. Signing off.” The man’s voice vanished and panic rushed through Tommy, rivaling the adrenaline he felt running from zombies or rogue survivors. Before he could even think, his finger pressed the button. A red light blinked on and he took a deep breath. He wasn’t ready. He needed more time, but he didn’t have that and, well, even in the apocalypse he’d always been impulsive.</p><p>“’Ello, Wilbur. Sorry I’m late.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>For anyone who skipped here, all you really need to know for next chapter is that as Wilbur was ending his daily transmission, Tommy worked up the nerve to try to contact him. The chapter ends at him speaking into the radio for the first time.</p><p>Thanks to everyone who's still reading. Feel free to let me know any thoughts, theories, suggestions, critiques, etc. I'm very happy to hear them.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Not sure how I feel about this chapter, might rework or rewrite it at a later date but for now, feed.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>To be honest, Tommy had expected more of a reaction. Instead, absolute silence greeted him for a solid few seconds. He doubted Wilbur had left the room quickly enough he hadn’t heard Tommy speak. Hopefully. Nerves settled low in his gut and he started tapping his foot impatiently. Was the radio broken? Had his message not gone through at all?</p>
<p>Tommy leaned forward, feeling his breath start to speed up as he realized the situation might be hopeless. It couldn't be, now that he’d made the leap he wanted so badly to speak with someone again. To not be so horribly alone. “Hello? Is- is this thing working?”</p>
<p>His hands shook and he nearly reached out to try a different knob, when Wilbur’s voice filtered through the radio once more. “You’re not Schlatt.” He sounded completely shellshocked. Tommy couldn't blame him really. He’d felt that way when he first heard Wilbur’s voice too. “But you’re… Someone. Someone alive? Who are you?”</p>
<p>“Wouldn’t you-” Tommy had to cut himself off to cough and take a swig of water. His voice was hoarse and he cursed himself for letting it fall into disuse. “Wouldn’t you like to know, bitch?”</p>
<p>“Yeah, I would like to know, child. How old are you? You sound like, twelve. Who let a toddler run loose in the apocalypse?”</p>
<p>“I’m not a child!”</p>
<p>“Sure.”</p>
<p>Silence settled between them for a few seconds, and it felt as if it were holding its breath. Tommy wondered if Wilbur wanted to hear Tommy’s voice as desperately as Tommy had wanted to hear his. So to make up for being a coward the past few days Tommy took a deep breath and spoke once more. “I’ll have you know I’m sixteen, actually. Probably.”</p>
<p>Wilbur sucked in a sharp breath. “That’s… you must have been-”</p>
<p>“I’ve been listening to you talk for like a week, you know,” Tommy barreled on, cutting him off. “I couldn’t figure out how to work this dumb thing at first. And then… er, well, why’d you keep calling anyway, if nobody was answering?”</p>
<p>Wilbur laughed, and Tommy could hear how hollow it was even over the radio. “It’s not like I had anything better to do. You can only reread the same books and play the same songs and cook the same meals so many times. Besides, it worked, didn’t it? Someone picked up eventually, even if it wasn’t...” He sighed. “I’m guessing Schlatt’s not there?”</p>
<p>“Nobody’s here but me. It’s fuckin’ creepy, there’s no signs of something breaking in or anybody being dragged out. It’s just littered with beer and cigarettes, and the gate was left open.”</p>
<p>“I… had a feeling that was probably the case.”</p>
<p>Wilbur fell silent and Tommy cringed a little, realizing talking about Wilbur’s probably dead friend may be a touchy subject. “I’m Tommy, by the way.”</p>
<p>“Tommy… it’s nice to meet you, Tommy. You sound like a fucking gremlin.”</p>
<p>“Well you sound like a bitch, <em>bitch</em>.” Much to Tommy’s surprise, Wilbur laughed. It was so much nicer than the ways Tommy had heard him laugh before, always sad or borderline manic. This laugh was genuine and seemed to burst with life. Tommy liked it more than he thought he would, and found himself grinning.</p>
<p>“You know what, I think we’re going to have a lot of fun together,” Wilbur said. “You are going to stick around, aren’t you Tommy?”</p>
<p>Tommy thought of his plans to leave, of his conviction that movement was necessary for survival. He thought of the restless itch under his skin that grew the longer he stayed put here. Then he thought of sleepless nights and tense days, of weeks and months muffling any noise he could. He thought of endless days spent all on his own, barely keeping himself alive, let alone sane. He thought of how nice it felt to make Wilbur laugh, and of the way his voice lulled Tommy to sleep most nights despite his night terrors. He thought of the mad way Wilbur would start rambling, sometimes, of how desperate he’d sounded before Tommy answered him. He thought of where they’d both come from and where they’d end up if they cut contact. He thought of whether he wanted to keep surviving if it meant staying miserable until the day his luck ran out. He thought of his parents, what they’d want for him, and he thought of what the kid he’d been before all this would want too. Tommy leaned back in the chair, stretched his legs out, and got comfortable to sit for much longer.</p>
<p>“Yeah, Wilbur. I reckon I am.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>As always, thank you so much for reading! I haven't been very active about responding to comments but please know that they all mean a lot &lt;3 Have a nice day/night.</p>
        </blockquote><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thanks for reading! Please feel free to leave any comments, questions, or critiques down below, I love hearing them.</p></blockquote></div></div>
</body>
</html>